


Guardian

by raseimon



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, backstory exploration, implied assault, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 14:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raseimon/pseuds/raseimon
Summary: The two children are shaking with fear, clothes ripped and bloodstained; he can tell that they're mature well beyond their years. That there's far too much blood on their hands than what should be normal.Nonetheless, he smiles and extends his hand.(Or, Siete of the Eternals adopts a pair of erune twins).





	Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> just as a warning but there's slight gore/implied assault and implied csa. none of it is explicit or detailed but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Neither of them remember a time when they haven't been on the run.

Maybe in their past, they had a happy life, one with color, one full of laughs and happy memories, a  _home,_  but all the twins presently know are grey and ruin. Any form of happiness seems so long ago, but a dream, a passing memory. Life is constantly trying to find their next meal, wondering if they'll eat today at all. It's hustle and bustle, putting on their biggest smiles trying to earn odd jobs for a few coins, to beg on the street in each village for money or food.

Most of the time the honest, pathetic way of earning a living isn't that successful. There are so many other kids like them, orphans without parents, without anyone else in this world, left to starve in the street- all of them, doing the same trying to get by. People look at them, the forgotten children, as if they're lower than low, though they've done nothing to deserve it save for being born into the wrong circumstances.

Sometimes, the twins bond with their fellow beggars, sharing pieces of bread and tips on how to charm certain noblemen but mostly, it's everyone for themselves. One always had to be careful, lest someone steals their coin or their share of food when they aren't looking. The alleyways, lined with cardboard for the sleeping children, are cold and unforgiving.

It makes Esser and Quatre's situation advantageous, though. They have always been two. They always have each other to rely on, someone to watch each other's back. It makes this cruel world a little less empty, a little more fair.

They are somewhere around seven years old when they learn how to pick pockets. Esser learns from observing one of the older children, one who doesn't mind being friendly. She's flirtatious smiles and suggestive winks at unsuspecting young men; they'd be distracted by her sugar, not noticing how swiftly she would take their wallets until she'd cackle and run away.

"A smile is the most dangerous weapon of all!" she'd told Esser, while breaking a pastry in half to give to the twins. She'd disappeared after that, never to be seen again. Such is the life of these kids, these wanderers with no place they belonged. After having that kindness shown to her, only to pass so quickly, Esser thinks she agrees.

Pickpocketing is easier with the two of them. Quatre hates it but he has a sweet face, and Esser's eyes are gentle; in less populated villages, begging could yield bountiful results. Manipulating innocent passerbys, or not-so-innocent drunks, is effortless like taking candy from a baby. Either of them could sweet talk their way, whichever the victim preferred- and the other would swoop in for the kill, taking their wallet, a few coins and possibly the victim's dignity.

 "I... don't like doing this," Quatre admits, secretly as they sit by a fire. They'd been chased out of a village again, after too many outspoken townspeople had discovered their ploys. Her brother liked to act tough, haughty, but Esser knows just how vulnerable he really is, especially in these moments, talking at night with utmost sincerity.

"Me either... but we have to," Esser sighs, forlorn. It's this, or eating scraps, rummaging through the garbage; from what she's heard through the grapevine, taxes are increasing for the common man. She ruffles his hair in affection, to ease her own nerves as he leans into her touch. Esser's always felt so warm and he sticks to her like moth to a flame; her touch helps Quatre feel less abandoned and alone. 

Later, in their rounds scrambling for a new town, they come across an abandoned armory. It's possibly the luckiest find they've had in quite some time.

"...Weapons," Esser's voice is always quiet and reserved, but as she examines each implement her tone is laced with awe. "We can take mercenary jobs." As if anyone would hire two seven-year olds, inexperienced and clumsy, but it can at least help them defend themselves and even hunt for food if in between towns. There are always corrupt individuals as well, like the mafia who had no qualms with child labor; either way, being equipped with a weapon is more beneficial than not.

Esser chooses a gun. The grip feels natural in her small, delicate fingers. Compared to Quatre, she'd always been more patient at aiming in their childish game of makeshift darts; he'd always been amazed at her eagle eyes. From some killings she'd seen in the night, the body always dropped fast, especially if shot in the head. Quick, easy, painless. Esser wants to be merciful, if given the chance, though she'd rather not kill at all.

Quatre, however, opts for the daggers. He's fascinated by the sharpness, the gleam as moonlight shines on them. He doesn't want to copy his sister and there's a unique sensation he feels when he slashes against someone's flesh- he's used them before, in an emergency, outsmarted the orphan who'd tried to catch him off guard, tried to steal the coin he'd luckily earned that day.

(There's a very faint memory of someone teaching him how to cut vegetables with a knife. He doesn't know who, or when it even was, perhaps it's even a fragment of his imagination- but he wants to keep the memory alive and ingrained into his mind. If he doesn't, he's afraid he'll lose it, quicker than when a noble drops a coin and all the street rats scramble to obtain it first.)

The armory is a good place to sleep for the night, safe from the dangers outside. They find a nice corner and Quatre holds onto his sister for his dear life; the dreamless sleep is the safest they've felt in a very long time.

When morning comes, hand in hand, they press on.

 

* * *

 

For a while, it seems like things are going well. Pickpocketing is only for emergencies now, since they've found something else to take advantage of. Each day, the twins practice with each other, fighting as the crack of dawn hits to hone their skills so that perhaps a willing mercenary will give them an odd job or someone will take pity on them for being so young.

Orphans gather around them, too, more willing to become their friends because they're so strong. Before they know it, the twins have made bonds outside of just the two of them. Foreign, but not unwelcome; hearing the word "family" makes something flutter in Esser's chest.

The weapons also do wonders for entertainment; townspeople are amazed (terrified) at how two children are so proficient with weapons. They turn fights into shows, dances with agile, well-practiced movements. Crowds clap, excitement reverberating through stomping of stone paths, at the expense of the twins and their survival.

People are so simple, so easily swayed by meaningless violence. It doesn't matter, though, what these people think; coin is more plentiful in their pockets now. Sometimes, they can even afford to sleep in a bed, even two single beds and different rooms if desired though they always preferred one- to listen to each other's heartbeats, of course, to always be next to each other. Twins, without the other, could get easily lonely, especially the two erune, attached at the hip from birth. It's the only way they've survived for so long, after all.

It happens when Quatre is out by himself. It's unusual for Esser to go on a job by herself but she's with some others that he trusts. It's a small job, something about herding cattle, so nothing unsafe as well, no needed bloodshed or else he would have insisted on tagging along.

He has free time, so he wanders. He's never been able to stop and smell the roses, and though he wishes it could be with Esser perhaps it's not so bad. The marketplace is vivacious and free samples are being offered, even to someone like him- perhaps he wouldn't feel so hungry later and Esser could have a bigger share of food for a hard day's work. He smiles at the thought; his older sister deserved it, she's been working so hard lately.

As he passes by, he hears some children chirp, singing with laughter. They're gathered around one girl beaming with pride, and the words  _'happy birthday!'_ are chanted, a light atmosphere surrounding the group.

A birthday. Normal people had those, had things to celebrate; they tracked days, had holidays, life wasn't a complete blur. Everyone has one, but Quatre doesn't remember when he was born, what season, what month, what day, and he doubts Esser knows either. One day, he'd like to know, perhaps pick a date themselves- to celebrate her even more.

He comes across a stand after that, as if it's fate. It's small and full of knick-knacks, necklaces, pearls, things he'd always seen Esser admire but never point out. Coins clink in his pocket; he counts them, wondering what to purchase when it catches his eye. Simple, a shade of periwinkle that matches Esser's eyes, a ribbon that would look perfect entwined into her hair. Pink and blue.

He has enough money, for that beautiful ribbon. Perhaps today they could celebrate something, make their lives a little less bleak.

The old woman's face at the counter is kind. She doesn't wrinkle her nose at the sight of him, at how he hasn't taken a proper bath in ages, at his dirt-stained face and fingernails laced with grime. She even puts the ribbon in a bag as to not sully it when he touches it; he's not offended, more thankful that he can preserve its purity for his beloved sister.

"Take care, my dear," she says, tender smile emphasizing her wrinkles as he exits. 

"T-Thank you," Quatre replies, cheeks tinging pink. He doesn't think that his usual venom is necessary, to such a kind, elderly woman.

When he heads back to the alleyway, the hideout that his new orphan friends founded, it's oddly quiet. The usual crowd playing ball in the streets is nowhere to be found and there are no presences in their makeshift houses of cardboard, newspaper, and scraps of metal. Quatre wonders if something's happened, guard immediately up and stance cautious.

It's too late when he's struck from behind. The mafioso behind him is inaudible in his steps, skilled, ruthless.

All turns black before him. He's dragged away in seconds, flung over the shoulder as if he's a bag of wheat.

Esser comes back that night, to that eerie, near-abandoned alleyway. She's instantly worried when Quatre isn't in their 'home'; he'd never wander away without consulting her and she knew he'd scoured town but that only took a few hours at best. She looks around for others, searching each corner and cranny but almost no trace is left behind.

A groan is heard deep in the alleyway. Her ears perk up and Esser runs, hoping that maybe it's Quatre.

A child lies, face down, beaten heavily. She leans down to check if he's still alive- he is, but only barely clinging onto life. She wishes she could help, that she had some first aid, bandages, _something..._  but it's all for naught. She knows he'll pass soon but she still wishes she could do something,  _anything-_ she's seen this happen too much, and each and every time it's been unbearable.

"W-Where's Quatre?" Esser manages, trying not to focus so much on this morbid truth, but on her brother instead.

"A-A raid... by the mafia," he mutters, weary, eyelids drooping. "...They took him, and some others. The hideout on the outskirts of the village... I think that's where they should be."

 _"Dispensable Pests"_ to imperial officers, forced labor and test subjects to the mafia. That's all they ever thought of them, these children abandoned, born into unfortunate circumstances. Esser clenches her heart, inhales deeply. Her heart is still beating, she's able to breathe. Why couldn't anyone else see that, that they were just as alive as everyone else?

"E-Esser-nee, can you do one thing for me?" the child suddenly calls. His resolve is waning; he doesn't have much time left. "Can you hold my hand?"

"O-Of course, my wonderful, dear brother," she says, trying not to sob. She takes his hand in hers, strokes his palm soothingly. Despite lying on the ground, in his own pool of blood, he smiles.

"Thank you."

The child closes his eyes, pulse declining. Esser bites back her tears as she lets go. Someone she couldn't protect. So many she couldn't protect.

But she needs to reach the hideout. There's someone who she can't lose, at all costs.

 

* * *

 

The hideout is surprisingly ill-guarded when she arrives, frantic, desperately searching for her brother as their livelihoods depended on it. Perhaps the other children riled up and risen against their kidnappers, perhaps Quatre had broken free- they're all hopes, of course, but it makes it surprisingly easy for Esser to sneak in. Only a few guards are stationed and it's easy to injure them to not fight back. The hideout is quaint but as she creaks each door open she can't find the one she's looking for. There are some kids, though, tied up and wriggling with fear- they thank her with wide, admiring eyes as she saves them, urging them to scramble from harm's way. But some have already been taken to other parts, trafficked, sold- she could never forgive herself for not arriving on time for them.

"I-I think your brother's with the leader... last time I saw him, the leader was harassing him. Last door, to the right," one of the kids informs after a quick hug. She nods in acknowledgment as she urges them to the exit and then follows the instructions. Deep into the house; of course they'd be hiding there.

She hears a bloodcurdling scream as she nears her destination, her pace quickening in anxiety to reach him lest something worse happens. Esser doesn't rush in though; she squints into the creak of the door, trying to plan her rescue. Her stomach drops at the sight.

Quatre is tied to a chair with heavy rope, eyes rabid, burning with rage. His kidnapper is complacent, twirling his daggers to rile Quatre up in one hand, another hand cupping the side of his face.

The mafioso pulls Quatre ahead by his hair. There are cuts and scrapes on his cheeks, his body, clothes slightly ripped, rope burns all across his skin.

"Beautiful, aren't you? Feisty, too," the abominable man, no,  _creature,_  smirks, taking Quatre's chin in his hands. "Wonder how high you'd sell for."

Something in Esser's mind snaps upon hearing those words. She's simply not strong enough to see the person she cares about the most come into harm. All notions of stealth are completely discarded, the thought of mercy erased. Her brother looks broken; she can only imagine what's happened, familiar with the act herself.

Esser shoots her gun. Once, twice, too many times to count; Quatre feels his ears pop from the noise. He's mesmerized as the bullets pierce through his assailant's body, one by one, puncturing holes through flesh. It isn't long until the monster is shot into something that barely resembles a human, falling on top of Quatre as if weighing light like a feather.

Esser would have to apologize later, for this disgusting human touching her beloved sibling.

Blood. Blood everywhere. It seeps from the man's garments, to Quatre's own clothes, to the floor. He's stained with red everywhere; it permeates into his skin, forever. Esser frees him from his confines, takes the daggers from the mafioso to undo the ropes, throws the body on the floor. The blood smears his sister when they embrace.

It will never leave her. It will never leave him.

Quatre holds her tightly, as if he'd never let go. 

"W-We've lost so much," Esser sobs into Quatre's shoulder. "I couldn't lose you." She wails, and wails, and wails, her cries vibrating through the walls. Finally, meeting others, who didn't shun them completely- and now so many were gone. Quatre tries to wipe her tears, but it's futile; Esser cries, tears falling as if never-ending.

Quatre can't blame her for crying so much. He's sure he would do the same if she'd gotten even a scratch from those awful men; he has, actually, from moments before.

"Nee-san... Nee-san, it's okay," In spite of himself, Quatre smiles, trying to comfort his crying sister from the life she'd just taken. "We still have each other.

But he needs to get stronger. He'd made such a rookie mistake, leaving himself so out in the open. He needed to protect himself, to protect her, so this would never happen again. So that he wouldn't have to see her tears in these copious amounts.

(She will never claim a life with her gun, again. And if she is left with no choice, she won't be so cruel.

So many bullets. That man deserved it, but the realization that she'd just killed without thought- it will haunt her forever.)

All this blood. If left to his own devices, perhaps Quatre would have completely succumbed, spiralled into madness. But he holds his twin, sobbing in his arms, clenching his fists in resolve. 

(Or maybe he's already mad.)

He needs to get stronger.

(She wants a world where this is unnecessary, where people aren't so cruel.)

He remembers the ribbon, scourges for it in his pockets. It is still unstained and sleek satin remains pure. He spits on his hands, rubbing them, trying desperately to rid them of red. It barely works but being so smooth the ribbon isn't sullied by his dirty hands; he's relieved as he takes one of Esser's loose braids and fixes it.

"Beautiful," he says with such intimate tenderness, trying to comfort her. In spite of herself, Esser manages a small smile. She then presses an ear to his chest- his heart is still beating, like hers. They are alive. Together.

Fate was kind, to make them twins, to have each other. But with all the suffering they've gone through... Fate is also cruel.

He sniffs the air as he strokes her hair soothingly, fresh with the scent of ichor. He remembers how many times she's done this to him, hoping he can be a source of relaxation as she's always been for him.

The smell, though... How rancid. Humans have disgusting blood.

But such is the way of their lives, of the twins abandoned by the rest of the world. 

 

* * *

 

"Quatre... you're being too cruel," Esser points out as Quatre slashes the man before him. Again, again, again- he's already scratched up, beaten heavily, but Quatre wanted more. It wasn't enough, it never would be. "There's no point in doing that."

"Sorry Nee-san," Quatre only shrugs, pocketing his daggers at his sides at her command. "Got a bit carried away."

He won't stop, though. When she turns away, he spits on the man, cowering with fear on the ground. The man covers himself with his arms; how pathetic. Someone who underestimated the twins and their power, thought he could kidnap them into forced labor, someone who tried to harm their friends.

Vermin. Why would he stop, take pity on such a disgusting man?

_No one stops._

He can't show weakness. Never again.

(If only her mental resolve was stronger. Being a monster is not a goal to strive for. She didn't want to become one- she just became.)

 

* * *

 

It's easier to find them than he thinks- the two terror twins with a bounty on their head. The man, a blonde with a lackadaisical smile, thought he'd have to search for them harder, through all nooks and crannies, secret hideaways of this city; from their reputation, he'd heard they were elusive, mysterious. But he finds them in a back alley by the inn he's staying while on the prowl for new members of their organization. Uno's found some already and damn it, he needs to pick up the pace.

They're sitting on the streets looking worse for wear. He's shocked at how young they are; they don't look a day above twelve. One has hair that resembles blue periwinkles, the other, pink carnations; he doesn't know what he should have imagined, really, what he should have expected. From posters, printed in black and white, their features had been exaggerated, made out to be vile- but they're still  _children,_ above all else. He's overcome with pity at the sight.

The two children are shaking with fear, clothes ripped and bloodstained; he can tell that they're mature well beyond their years. That there's far too much blood on their hands than what should be normal.

Nonetheless, he smiles, leans down at them and extends his hand. They're equally as dumbfounded, disturbed by this new presence. No adult had bothered to approach them with such kindness in a long time.

Quatre slaps it away, hissing in disbelief that a total stranger would extend his hand to them, much less move _near_  them. He grips Esser tighter, who does the same, though it's more to mollify him. "Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing?"

The man only laughs, an obnoxious, self-satisfied sound. Quatre thinks he'd love to punch the smirk right off him.

"A-Ah, I guess I was too presumptuous, in thinking you'd trust me so blindly," the stranger scratches his head. He drops his weapon, a sword, to the ground and raises his arms in surrender. "I come in peace!"

"...You don't need to be a fucking weirdo."

"What do you want from us?" Esser asks, less exasperated but still cautious. The stranger only grins.

"You know, you're infamous in these parts. I've been watching you two for a while now," The man begins. Esser looks mortified while Quatre's eyes turn into slits.

"...Pervert," Quatre snarls, reaching into his pocket for a dagger to wave. The man realizes his mistake, waving his hands frantically.

"Whoah, not like that!" He laughs sheepishly, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. "I mean... you two are pretty damn strong, aren't you? Probably the most feared children in town. I admire your prowess!"

Quatre snorts. "Then why the fuck are you talking to us? You should know to stay away, you  _imbecile_." 

"Quatre, please calm down," Esser rubs her brother's shoulder soothingly, trying again to placate him. "We'll listen to what you have to say." Esser's gaze isn't kind, though, still wary and knowing from all her years; the man knows he has to speak fast to earn traction.

"..I want to help you two," he finally says, straightforward and to the point. "I'm trying to, ah, gather a group. A protectorate of sorts, for all the skies."

He looks the twins up and down, and contemplates. "...Actually, for now, I think you two just need some food. And maybe some baths and a place to sleep. Why don't you come with me?"

They stare at him in disbelief, the offer too good to be true. "One moment, please," Esser mutters, before the two gather into an embrace to consult amongst themselves. The man chuckles to himself at their whispers, Quatre not even bothering to hide his distaste.

 _"If he's telling the truth, it's score for us." "He doesn't seem like a bad guy, and he surrendered his weapons, he can't harm us."  "If anything, we can just rob him."_ "Quatre."

The twins admit, though, they're somewhat curious about this group that he's trying to advertise. After a few minutes, they reach a conclusion, facing the man and standing up from their spot. Esser brushes the dirt off her dress, murmuring, "Alright, we'll agree to come with you, but please don't pick up your weapon."

The man shrugs. "Alright, I have a ton more, anyways. A whole collection, even!" Quatre glares; he's so annoyingly  _carefree._ He's too stupid to harm them with intent, the younger twin decides, though out of principle he's still wary.

"...I'll rearrange your guts if you dare touch my sister," Quatre retorts, offput by this peculiar blonde.

Siete grins. "I'll rip them out myself to gain your trust."

He takes them to the inn where he's been staying. The innkeeper looks at him curiously for bringing in new companions, especially the children with the bounties on their head- but he supposes that the man's going to turn them in, so he says nothing, letting Siete pass by without question. Siete's room is rather large, a huge bed, a couch, even some twin bunk-beds on the side. The twins are a little creeped out at his intent; he obviously was meaning to bring them back or at least some others. Was this group really that integral to him?

"The bathroom's over there!" he says cheerfully, pointing to the adjacent door. He sits on the couch, stretches his arms and yawns, leaving them to their own devices. At least he knows to leave them alone for this.

Quatre and Esser haven't been inside a proper bathroom in a very long time, a bathtub even longer. It's a nice size so they decide to take a bath together, stripping of wear. Quatre keeps the bandages around his chest, of course; he never takes them off unless it's to change them, though he preferred to make it as quick as possible. There's only soap and some fragrant oil that Esser assumes is used as shampoo but it's much more than they've had for a long time. It's refreshing, to finally be able to properly do this- they scrub themselves multiple times, savoring the feeling of cleanliness... though, really, could they ever fully feel clean again?

"Nee-san... your hair's always been so beautiful," Quatre mutters, admiring as he helps wash his sister's hair. Long and flowing, she resembles an angel.

"...Yours is growing too, Quatre," Esser smiles, mimicking his movements, massaging his scalp. "I thought you'd want to cut it off."

"I think it's nice, having something to share." Their intricate braid routine is something close to his heart; Quatre had been clumsy with fixing her hair when they were young but now was just as skilled as Esser was in the craft.

They finish after that, braiding their hair as well. Siete, closing his eyes, procures two shifts for them to wear. They haven't had new clothes to wear in a while; admittedly, they can't say they're not grateful. When they're changed, Siete urges them to sit with him, though they don't sit beside him and opt for the chairs opposite to him.

"What do you want from us?" Quatre crosses his arms, straight to the point. "I don't care if you want to fuck me, but if you dare touch my sister I'll-"

Siete stares, jaw agape.

"Whoah, whoah!" he sticks out his tongue in disgust. "Gross, you're like, twelve or something. You're just a kid- kids shouldn't be thinking about that."

Quatre's gaze is full of venom and Siete immediately wishes he hadn't just spoken his words. The air becomes somber, awkwardness lingering when Quatre's wordless stare pierces through him, livid with anger- but most prominently, broken.  _That didn't stop a lot of people from harming us._

"Not everyone in this world is out to hurt you." Siete sighs, rubbing his temples.

Quatre doesn't relent. "But most people are." Especially adults, those awful, horrid human beings who'd done so much to them.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Siete tries, eyes pleading with sincerity. "I promise you that."

Of course, the twins are skeptical. Siete can imagine that they've heard the same drivel before; he'd just have to prove to them that he was someone to be trusted.  

"Whatever," Quatre rolls his eyes. "...But I'm sure you know that food and board don't come cheap. So, we'll work for you to earn our share." Things in their world don't come free, especially kindness- Siete can understand that much.

Siete only shrugs. "Maybe for now, you can do some errands... But what I ultimately want is your trust."

"Our trust?" This time it's Esser who speaks, raising a brow in curiosity.

The blonde looks out the window, to the expansive blue sky. The skydom is vast and full of wonder, full of places to explore... full of people, whose smiles he wanted to protect. "My name is Siete, at your service. I have some big plans for us. I hope you'll hear me out."

 

* * *

 

"A whole plot of land..." Esser gazes upon the acres with awe. It's not completely empty; there are some abandoned houses, fences, shops but perhaps the leftovers would make her goal easier. They could easily be repaired and repurposed, if given the time and care.

"What do you think?" Siete gleams, as if one of his swords. "It's yours!"

"Where'd you get the money?" Quatre mutters offhandedly. "Fucking trust fund kid."

Siete only continues to beam. He has mysterious ways to get what he wants, and the twins are surprised at how charismatic he could be (and, well, he isn't above begging and looking pathetic either). Sierokarte is no joker either, a master of manipulation, especially when it came to deals; it was advantageous to have her as an ally. Esser ignores their banter, still taken with the gift, still completely amazed that she and her brother had gotten so far when they were still street rats a few months ago.

"We could build a village," Esser says, eyes shining with a brightness Quatre's never seen before. He's only come to recognize that emotion recently- it's hope. "A home. For all the children... caught in circumstances, without parents, without purpose. A place for people like us, forgotten by the world."

"A place for people like us..." He'd do anything to fulfill her dreams; Esser, of course, is the most important, the person he cares for most in the world, but Quatre thinks this cause is pretty damn worthy himself. He thinks of all the friends they've made throughout the years, all the children they'd met... maybe, they could finally have a haven, a place where they could be safe.

Maybe Siete isn't so bad sometimes. He'd certainly done much to prove himself through the few months they'd been together, without asking for much in return. An adult... they could trust, though Quatre always hated to admit it. He flings his arms around both of the children in affection; though Quatre always hesitates, they both lean into his touch. He doesn't need to say anything, not anymore.

_Even if the rest of the world does... I won't ever forget about you._

_My children._

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this in my drafts for a while now but accidentally... deleted the file... so i was really pissed and unmotivated but i had to continue because the twins are so important to me. so this might not be as good as i originally planned but i really love the twins and just really want more fic with them in general. uhh i'm sorry for some of the heavy implications but even if the granblue world is very anime the twins actually have some really dark backstory so i guess... i thought it'd fit, as much as it pained me to write.
> 
> this was partially inspired by devola and popola from nier:automata... so many parts of that memory reminded me of them. i feel like this isn't my usual writing style but i thought a simpler one would fit the fic well... it's been a while since i've read esser and quatre's 5* fates btw, so i apologize if it doesn't match up to what you think of them? i kinda binged this in one setting lol;; thank you for reading though, hopefully i made someone love them a bit more :')


End file.
